


The Secret of Flight

by Mithen



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, Identity Porn, Kayfabe Compliant, Set in 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: Kevin's wanted to wrestle El Generico since he first saw his Asai moonsault.  He's even taken a break from his stultifying wrestling school to wrestle in the same promotion as this brilliant wrestling mind, this genius of flight.  The only problem is that El Generico refuses to wrestle him--or even meet him.  Luckily this dorky red-headed Sami Zayn kid is a friend of Generico's--if Kevin makes friends with him, maybe he'll introduce him to the luchador.What could possibly go wrong with this plan?





	The Secret of Flight

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the events of this story--Generico's first moonsault, Kevin's crisis over leaving Rougeau's school, the crowd's chant after their first singles match together--actually happened. I did erase the three-way match Kevin and Generico had with PCO so that their singles match would be their first time in the ring together. And I'm _pretty_ sure Kevin never believed Sami and Generico were two different people, although he can be hard to pin down on that one...

Kevin pulled his hoodie more closely around his face as he stepped into Le Skratch, handing over his money and praying the guy at the counter wouldn’t look too closely at him. It wouldn’t do to have anyone spot Jacques Rougeau’s golden boy slipping into an IWS show, after all. Rougeau would have his hide if he heard Kevin had been at some shitty indie show, _learning bad habits,_ as he’d put it. But Beef Wellington and Kid Kamikaze had just kept ranting and raving about IWS, about how it was so cool and so different from Rougeau’s school, and finally Kevin had decided he had to see one of the shows, if only so he could tell them that he’d been to one, and it wasn’t all that, so they could just shut the fuck up.

The concrete floor was tacky with beer; Kevin grimaced as he felt his shoes sticking to it. Third row, not bad. No one had seemed to recognize him, or if they had they were going to ignore him, also not bad.

The first match was pretty bad.

Sure, it was raucous and the crowd was into it in a way they never seemed to be at Rougeau’s shows. There was definitely a weird wild energy in the cruddy little bar. But the wrestlers were pretty shit--Kevin grinned smugly as one of them tried to pull off a hurricanrana and just crashed limply to the mat. They were sloppy. Kevin wasn’t _sloppy._ His moves were crisp and clean and perfect every time. And he always, always won, because he could do a 450 splash, and no one else could. He always won.

The next match was also pretty crap. The wrestlers in the tag match after that were technically sound, but the match itself was slow-paced and not very exciting. The energy in the bar flagged. People went to get more beer while the match was still going on. Man, the next time Beef started going on and on about how magic IWS was, Kevin was going to be _so_ ready. He could see it in his mind’s eye, how he was going to cross his arms and say, with just a touch of condescension, _Really? You gave up learning at the foot of a former WWE champion, gave up the chance of WWE glory, to do barbed wire matches in a shit bar? Jesus, man._

The next match was between someone called Evil Ninja #2 and--Kevin must have heard that wrong, did the ring announcer say _El Generico?_ That was an even more stupid name than “Evil Ninja #2,” and that was saying something. Kevin had had enough. As El Generico came to the ring, he was about to just give up and leave, but then… he wasn’t sure why, but he stayed. It was something about the way the Generico kid moved. He was wearing a stupid mask and a sparkly cape, but there was something about the way he held his scrawny body, something about the way he tilted his head to hear the applause of the crowd--and that was some impressive applause, Kevin realized. No one was getting a beer now, they were all focused on the ring.

When the bell rang, Kevin suddenly understood why.

El Generico looked like a clown, but he could fucking _wrestle._ Just a few minutes into the match he scrambled up some scaffolding next to the ring and--to Kevin’s abject shock--bounded off the scaffolding, onto the top rope, and did a 450 splash. Okay, he missed, and Kevin never did, but he did it so fucking _casually,_ as if it were no big deal.

And it wasn’t just the acrobatics, it was… more than that. It was how he moved, how every motion was filled with wiry intensity. It was the electric connection between him and the audience, the way their cheers seemed to fill him with energy. In return, his moves filled them with--with some emotion, Kevin didn’t know what it was but he could feel it in his own chest, bright and buoyant. He wanted this kid to win. Even more than that, he wanted to keep watching him wrestle for as long as possible. _God,_ he wanted to _wrestle_ him. Imagine being in the ring with all that crazy energy, you could never be bored while trying to dodge those kicks or swat him out of the air.

Bored.

Kevin hadn’t realized he was bored.

But he was. He was bored with Rougeau’s, bored with winning, bored with being so damn _perfect_ all the time. He wanted to grapple with this ball of energy, wanted to feel him always slipping away, elusive, wanted to chase him _forever--_

El Generico jumped onto the top rope and did a perfect Asai moonsault, flipping out of the ring and sprawling out across his opponent and the first two rows of the chairs, and Kevin’s heart seemed to jump with him. As Generico scrambled back onto the apron and threw his arms up in the air, Kevin somehow found himself on his feet, yelling, his hands in the air as well. Generico beamed at the audience, and for just a second Kevin could have sworn Generico met his eyes and grinned in delight, and he knew:

He had to wrestle this guy.

* * *

“Where is he?”

Various wrestlers looked up as Kevin charged into the spare room being used as an impromptu dressing room. “Where is he?” Kevin repeated with slightly more force. “That El Generico guy, I need to talk to him!” 

People shrugged and looked away, and Kevin felt panicked. Had he already left? Had Kevin missed his chance? He grabbed someone--Kevin had a vague recollection his name was “Nightmare Manson”--and demanded again, “El Generico! Where is he?”

“Uh.” Nightmare Manson looked uneasy. He glanced at some other wrestlers, who looked away or shrugged. “I guess you should talk to Sami,” he said, gesturing vaguely at a kid sitting in the corner, eating an apple and rummaging in his bag.

“Sami” had red hair and hazel eyes, and looked up, startled, as Kevin asked him politely where El Generico was. Okay, based on how he jumped to his feet and looked like he was going to make a break for the door, Kevin might have bellowed more than asked.

“What? Who? Why? Why do you want to know?” Sami said in a quick stammer.

“I need to talk to him!” Kevin resisted an impulse to shake the kid. “I _have_ to talk to him!”

“Well, he’s…” Sami swallowed a couple of times. “He’s not here now.”

Kevin squinted at him. “Don’t I know you? Have we met?” It came to him before Sami could reply: “You came to Rougeau’s school with Beef and Kid Kamikaze and some other IWS guys the other day, didn’t you?” He had a vague memory of this guy at the edges of the group, jittering and fidgeting and making weird random jokes. The only time he’d stood still was while Kevin was practicing: Kevin remembered a glimpse of him looking intently at him. Not envious, not awed, just utterly focused.

“Yeah,” Sami said now. “Yeah, I was there. You’re good.”

By reflex, Kevin responded as he always did to compliments: he winked and said “I know.”

“But your timing’s a little off on the cannonballs,” Sami said gravely.

Kevin blinked at him. No one had criticized anything about his wrestling since he’d proven he could hit that 450 splash. Like the one Generico had done so casually. Kevin shook his head at the reminder, refusing to get distracted from his purpose. “Where did El Generico go? Will he be at the next show? How do you know him? He’s fucking _amazing,_ he’s just fantastic, the way he moves, and the way he connects with the crowd, it’s just so fucking good!”

The composure disappeared from Sami’s face again, replaced by something close to a blush. “Oh,” he said, fidgeting wildly. “Oh, that’s—“

“Sami!” A squeal interrupted whatever Sami had been going to say, and a small gaggle of kids burst through the door and surrounded him. Kevin recognized a couple of them: younger siblings and kids of wrestlers, mostly. “Sami Sami Sami!” they clamored. “You promised! You promised another Generico story! You promised to tell us!” 

Sami beamed at them. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

“A Generico story?” Kevin echoed their tiny voices.

“Yeah, uh…”. Sami looked down at his feet. “I tell them stories about Generico sometimes.”

Kevin sat down on one of the folding chairs and crossed his arms. “Go on, then,” he said.

Sami sat down on another folding chair, perching on the edge. The kids gathered around his feet. “Okay,” said Sami, giving Kevin another wary glance. “Where was I?”

“You’d just told us the story of Generico and the Cursed Piñata,” one of the kids said.

“Right!” Sami exclaimed. “Well, the next story is called _El Generico Cries for the Moon_ and it’s all about how Generico found his purpose in life. See, it happened like this…”

As he told the story, he seemed to forget Kevin was there. His hands waved wildly and his voice filled with drama and delight as he told the tale:

* * *

**El Generico Cries for the Moon**

So one dark night, El Generico looked up at the sky and he saw the moon. It was a full moon, brighter and bigger than any Generico had ever seen, and Generico decided right then and there that he had to pluck it from the sky and make it his. He went to a wizard who lived on the outskirts of town, and he said, “Wizard, oh Wizard, I want the moon to wear around my waist where it will shine forever, a bright silver belt more beautiful than any in the world.”

The wizard said, “Foolish boy, the moon is not a token to be worn like a prize,” but Generico cried and cried and would not be comforted, he wanted the moon so badly. And finally the wizard took pity on him and gave him a magic ladder, small enough to fit in your pocket, saying “This ladder will reach to the sky, and bring you closer to the moon.”

Generico took that magic ladder and unfolded it and started to climb it, and whenever he reached the top of the ladder it grew longer, and so he climbed up and up and up into the sky. But he found that the higher he climbed, the larger the moon became, and when he was miles and miles and miles in the sky he realized that the moon was too large to ever be worn around his waist, and that his dreams were indeed foolish.

And Generico sat there on the top of his ladder in the deep blue sky and he cried and cried for the moon.

Then he climbed back down and went back to the wizard and said “Wizard, oh Wizard, you were right, the moon is not a thing I can wear around my waist. But I know now that it’s a place, a place among the stars, and I need to know how to get there, for even your magic ladder is not long enough to reach it.”

“Alas, little Generico,” the wizard said, “the only way to reach the moon is to learn to fly, and I cannot teach you that. You must learn it on your own, with your own heart.”

“Then I must go out into the wide world,” said Generico, “and learn how to fly. For one day I will make it to the moon.”

And the wizard in his pity gave him the magic ladder, and Generico left Tijuana and set off into the wide world, searching for the way to the moon.

* * *

“Did he get there?”

Sami looked at Kevin, startled. “What?”

“Did he get to the moon?” Kevin demanded.

“Not yet,” Sami said, and he smiled a little to himself. “But he will. I know it.”

“I want to wrestle him,” Kevin said. “Will he be at the next IWS show? How old is he? Where’s he from? You said Tijuana? Where does he live now? Where did he learn to do an Asai moonsault like that? Can he speak English? Can you introduce me to him?” He thought about it for a moment and added, “please?”

“I…” Sami looked uncomfortable as the kids drifted off, calling out see you later and tell Generico I love him. “It would be hard for me to introduce you to him.” He picked up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. “He should be at the next show, though.”

“Then I’ll be there,” Kevin said. “I want to wrestle him.” Considering he wasn’t even supposed to _be_ at IWS shows, that might be hard, but he had to try. “Can you tell him that when you see him?”

Sami made a vague gesture, half shrug and half nod, and headed to the door.

Kevin followed him out into the parking lot. “I mean, he’s so good,” Kevin said, hoping to make this weird kid understand how important it was. “Does he have a tag team partner? Maybe he’d like to tag with me?”

Sami’s eyes glinted in the moonlight as he glanced at Kevin. “Maybe. He…” He bit his lip and said, “he saw you in the audience tonight.”

“He did? He told you that? He--he knows who I am?” Kevin felt a stab of delight and fear combined go through him.

“Yeah. He thinks you’re a really good wrestler,” Sami said, and Kevin sagged with relief. “He was happy you liked his match.”

“Liked it? I _loved_ it! That 450 off the scaffold--hey, where’s your car?”

Sami paused at the edge of the sidewalk. “I don’t have one. I was gonna walk some of the way, maybe hitch a ride.”

Kevin glared at Sami’s worn sneakers and thin socks. “Jeez, let me give you a ride, at least.”

Sami hesitated a moment and then nodded.

Kevin had meant to pump him for more details about El Generico, but somehow found himself talking about wrestling in general with Sami, who turned out to have a lot of opinions and a mighty need to express them. They compared which wrestling shows they’d gone to and were delighted to discover they’d both been there live for Survivor Series ‘97--but when Sami discovered Kevin was a Shawn Michaels fan the discussion became heated enough that Kevin had to pull over to the side of the road to have both hands free for vehement gesturing. 

Despite this, they turned out to have a lot of opinions in common about moves, and timing, and storytelling. They picked apart a couple of favorite matches moment by moment, and Kevin realized there was no one he could talk to like this, not at Rougeau’s school. Maybe not anywhere.

“So, you’re not just a fan, right?” Kevin asked when the conversation flagged for a second. “You wrestle too? You must.”

“Oh.” Sami looked away from him, out the window at the moon for a moment. “I don’t… I don’t get in the ring,” he said.

“But you must be getting trained or something, right?”

He caught a brief flash of smile reflected in the car window. “I’ve had a couple of lessons.”

“You should come to Rougeau’s school,” Kevin said.

Sami shook his head and laughed, a short bark that didn’t suit him. “My family can’t afford that stuff.”

“Well,” said Kevin. “I mean. I could probably give you some pointers if you want.” He threw out his chest, just a little. “I’ve been teaching a bunch of the newer students at Rougeau’s, and you can’t be as clueless as they are.”

Sami laughed again, softer this time. “Nah, that’s fine,” he said. 

“I bet El Generico’s given you some tips,” Kevin said, feeling an irrational pang of jealousy.

Sami shook his head. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but Generico… he’s kind of an idiot. He can wrestle, but he kind of sucks at communicating, well, anything.”

“I bet you could learn a lot just from watching him,” Kevin said. “That Asai moonsault—jeez louise, it’s so pretty. I’d be happy just to watch it a thousand times.”

 _”Jeez louise,”_ Sami echoed him. 

Kevin looked over to see he had an odd grin on his face. “What’s so fucking funny?” Kevin demanded.

Sami shrugged. “You’re just… not what I expected, Kevin Steen,” he said.

“What’d you expect?”

“You seemed really arrogant and full of yourself when I first saw you. Kinda mean, too,” Sami said.

“Well, sure, I’m all that,” Kevin said, and Sami laughed.

“You are all that,” he agreed. “But you’re…” His voice trailed off. “I dunno. El Generico could tell you _got it_ the moment he saw you. I thought he was crazy. Maybe he wasn’t.” Torn between wanting to scoff and wanting to hear more about what Generico thought of him, Kevin didn’t say anything at all, and after a moment, Sami said, “You can just drop me off at this gas station. My place is around the corner.”

Kevin pulled in and Sami opened the door, hopping out. “Hey,” Kevin said before he could close the door. “The next IWS show. Will…”

Sami blinked at him. 

“...Will Generico be there?”

Sami smiled. “Yeah, I think so. I will be too,” he added.

“Cool,” Kevin said as Sami swung the door shut. Maybe he could finally get that introduction.

* * *

Kevin stared around the changing room. “Damn it! Is he gone already?”

Sami was hastily shoving a black plastic bag into his duffel. He looked up at Kevin and said, “Generico?”

“Who the hell else?”

“Yeah,” said Sami, “He’s not here.”

“He did another Asai moonsault tonight!” Kevin said. “Did you see it? He did it right in front of me!” The masked luchador had scrambled back onto the apron and looked right at Kevin and given him a cocky finger-gun point, and Kevin was still feeling the adrenaline. _He knows me._

“I saw it,” Sami said.

“I talked to Manny,” Kevin said, and “He’s gonna book me on the next show.”

Sami stood up, his eyes wide. “I thought you couldn’t wrestle for other promotions.”

Kevin waved a hand. “Rougeau’s sick, he says we can work outside for a little bit. You think if I ask, Manny will book me against Generico?”

Sami danced from foot to foot, his eyes cast up, his hands twitching. “Um, maybe,” he said.

“I just know if I wrestle against him he’ll agree to be my tag partner,” Kevin said. “If we can just _connect._ ”

A couple of kids came over and looked imploringly at Sami. “Sorry, no Generico story tonight,” Sami said almost brusquely, and they backed off.

“Hey,” said Kevin as Sami grabbed his bag. “I’ve rented last year’s No Mercy on tape, you wanna come over to my place and watch it?” He’d been hoping to invite Generico, even though he still didn’t know if the kid even spoke English, but Sami would do. Actually, Kevin was kind of curious what he thought of it. “How about that main event, huh?”

Something flickered in Sami’s eyes. “I haven’t seen it,” he said.

Kevin boggled. “What?”

Sami looked away with an abruptly sullen set to his lips. It didn’t suit him. “WWE is overrated,” he said. Then after a second he added in a lower voice, “And pay-per-views are expensive.”

Kevin sorted through a variety of emotions with unusual alacrity for him, then put aside his defensive hurt at the jab at WWE to focus on Sami’s embarrassment at admitting he couldn’t afford it. “Well, I’ve got it now, so come over and watch it, huh?”

After a moment, a smile tugged at Sami’s mouth and he looked at Kevin again. “Wouldn’t you rather watch it with Generico?”

Kevin shrugged. “I already know I like talking about wrestling with you. I want to know what you think of the Lesnar-Undertaker match.”

Sami made a little scoffing noise. “Lesnar’s a meathead and a blowhard,” he said.

“Oh, sure,” said Kevin quickly. “I mean, his wrestling’s pretty good--” He ignored Sami’s snort, “But he’s… yeah, he’s pretty overrated. He’s not all that.”

* * *

A gangly puppy lunged at them as Kevin opened the door, wriggling in Kevin’s arms and trying to lick his face. “Hey, you dope,” Kevin said happily as it panted at Sami, struggling to lick him as well. “Brock, you dummy, don’t--”

“Brock?” Sami said.

“Uh.” Kevin put Brock down on the floor, where he danced around trying to get their attention. “Yeah.”

“‘He’s not all that,’ huh?”

Kevin felt himself reddening. “So I like Lesnar, so sue me,” he muttered.

To his surprise, Sami suddenly grinned. “He’s cute. The dog, not the wrestler,” he added.

“Hi Mom, hi Dad, this is Sami, he likes wrestling, we’re gonna watch some!” Kevin yelled in French as he dragged Sami up the stairs.

“Your room is…” Sami said as the door opened, “...very… black.”

“You like it?” Kevin said. He was pretty proud of the effect: black walls, black bedsheet, black carpet. It showed off the Stone Cold posters to best advantage, he thought.

Sami muttered something dire about Austin, but Kevin ignored the rantings of the Bret Hart fanboy and popped in the video.

“I can’t believe you have your own TV and VCR in your room,” Sami said, sitting down on the floor. “I guess if you can afford lessons at Rougeau’s…”

“You know, Rougeau’s not all that,” Kevin said. “Even before he got sick, he wasn’t teaching me much anymore. He’s got me teaching the kids and doing the music right now.” He shrugged, feeling oddly disloyal at running his school down. “I’m kind of frustrated,” he admitted. “That’s why I want to wrestle in IWS—wrestle Generico. I want a challenge.”

“If you’re so bored,” Sami said, “Why don’t you quit?”

“I didn’t say I was _bored,_ ” said Kevin, although that’s exactly what he was. “Besides, Rougeau… he says he can get me a tryout with the WWE.”

Sami’s hands plucked at the black carpeting. “You think they’ll hire you?”

“I’m one of the best in Quebec,” Kevin said. He knew it sounded like a boast, but it was just fact. Sami nodded without looking up from the floor, and even though it _was_ just fact, Kevin felt a sudden warmth in his chest at Sami’s acknowledgement. “Me and El Generico, we’re the only people I think are good enough the WWE might take us.”

Now Sami did look up. “You think he’s as good as you are?”

“Jeez, have you _seen_ him wrestle, you dope?” Kevin said, dropping onto the bed with a snort.

Sami’s smile was suddenly so bright and dazzling that Kevin blinked at the impact of it. “He _is_ good, isn’t he? I’ve thought so, but…” He shrugged. 

“Anyway,” Kevin said, “Rougeau is my ticket to that tryout. I can’t throw that away. Maybe if he sees how much I improve wrestling outside, he’ll understand.”

“You’d be an idiot to pass up a chance like that,” Sami agreed.

“And I’m no idiot,” Kevin said with a wink and pointed finger-gun.

“You sure aren’t,” said Sami, and looked for a second like he was going to point back at him, but put his hand back down with a quick grimace. 

Everything about him was quick, Kevin thought as the PPV started: quick and fidgety and restless. He never quite sat still, something was always in motion: his fingers or toes or one jittering knee, even while he watched the screen. They bickered all the way through the show, arguing about Torrie Wilson and Ric Flair and Tajiri. The snark was only suspended twice: once when the middle rope broke under Chris Jericho in the middle of a Lionsault and he fell flat on his face, causing Sami to make a startled squeaking noise before they got talking excitedly about what one would do to recover if that happened. The second time was the title match for the first-ever WWE tag team champions, with Edge and Benoit teaming up against Angle and Mysterio. About halfway through the match, Kevin realized neither of them had said anything for a while and were just staring at the screen. When it ended and Edge and Benoit had their hands lifted, Kevin heard Sami sigh, almost shakily.

“Tag team wrestling,” Sami said. “It’s the best.”

“It’s the fucking best,” Kevin agreed.

Sami went quiet again as the Lesnar and Undertaker match started and the Hell in a Cell was lowered. “I don’t like it,” he muttered as the camera passed lovingly over the chain links. “It’s dumb and gimmicky. It’s not _wrestling._ ”

“I think it’s cool,” Kevin said. “I mean, look at it! It’s awesome! Is there anything _more_ wrestling than a gigantic steel cage?”

Sami gnawed on his lip as Paul Heyman yelled insults outside the cage. “I had nightmares about it,” he said after a little while. “After Mankind’s match. You know the one. I dreamed that he was falling and I was trying to catch him. I couldn’t get my legs to work and I knew I wouldn’t get there in time.” He shrugged. “It’s just a dumb thing, I was just a dumb kid.”

Kevin stared at him for a moment, then reached out and ruffled his hair brusquely. “You’re still just a dumb kid,” he said. “We’re both dumb kids.”

Sami shot him a sideways look and didn’t say anything, but some tension seemed to go out of his shoulders. “I guess,” he said. On the screen, Undertaker had grabbed Paul Heyman by the tie through the chain links and was slamming his face into the cage over and over. Sami grinned. “And you’re right, this _is_ pretty cool.”

* * *

“God _damn_ it! I missed El Generico _again?_ ”

Sami was sitting surrounded by a few children. “Looks it,” he said. A couple of the children giggled; Sami gave them a narrow look and they hushed.

Kevin threw himself dramatically on the floor next to Sami’s little audience. “Manny told me Generico refused to wrestle me,” he announced, looking up at Sami. “Why doesn’t he want to wrestle me?”

“It’s not--” Sami broke off and started again, more quietly, “It’s not that he he doesn’t _want_ to wrestle you, he told me that.”

“Then _why_?” Kevin wanted to lie down and kick the floor like a kid having a temper tantrum.

Sami shrugged. “I think maybe he’s afraid of you?”

Kevin tried to summon the appropriate level of bluster. “Well, sure! I’ll kick his--” He looked at the solemn-eyed toddler sitting next to him, “--his butt, obviously, I’ll show him who’s boss, I’ll…” his voice trailed off. “I just want a chance to be in the ring with him,” he finished in something alarmingly close to a plaintive whine. 

“Maybe he’s afraid if you wrestle him you’ll realize he’s just a guy in a mask, and nothing that spectacular,” Sami said, looking down at his hands.

Kevin sighed gustily. “How am I ever going to convince him to be my tag partner if I can’t even talk to him?”

“You really want to tag with him? Not just fight him?”

“We’d be _great_ together,” Kevin said. “I just know it.” He sighed again, then realized that the crowd of children around Sami had grown. “Oh, are you going to tell another Generico story? Can I listen?”

“Always,” Sami said, then cleared his throat. “All right,” he said, “here’s the next story…”

* * *

**El Generico and the Scary Bear**

So you remember that El Generico left Tijuana and started traveling north, hoping to learn how to fly so he could finally get to the moon. He walked and walked and walked for weeks and months, and it grew colder and colder, and he saw snow for the first time. And he worked really hard in every town, but he could never seem to learn how to fly. The wizard had said he’d know it in his heart, but the moon seemed very far away sometimes, and Generico was very cold and tired.

One day he was walking through the forest and he came across three little rabbits hiding under a bush. _”Hola,_ rabbits,” said Generico. “Why are you hiding?”

“We’re hiding from the scary bear who lives in these woods and chases us around,” said the rabbits, shivering. “He’s big and loud and strong, and we’re afraid of him.”

“Well, he sounds like a big bully,” said El Generico. “And maybe someone should stop him, and maybe it’ll have to be me.”

So he went and found the scary bear and he challenged him to a wrestling match, because all the animals of the forest understand that a wrestling match is the best way to show who’s the strongest. And the scary bear growled in agreement, and they began to wrestle.

They wrestled for three whole hours, and Generico and the bear were almost perfectly evenly matched, and the forest shuddered with the sound of their fight. Generico didn’t know what to do, or how he was going to beat this bear. And then, in the middle of a suplex, he noticed something: he noticed that the bear had a terrible thorn stuck in its paw and the wound was festering and raw. Generico realized the bear must be in so much pain, and he felt bad for it. If he could just pull that thorn out, the bear would feel so much better. But— But then the bear would be even stronger, Generico thought. That thorn might be the only thing keeping it from beating Generico, and if it wasn’t in pain, Generico might lose. So he kept fighting and fighting, and worrying and worrying, and—

_”He’s gonna help the bear, right?”_

The story broke off as Sami and the kids all looked up at Kevin, who repeated: “He’ll help him, right? He wouldn’t just leave him like that, would he?” He realized he’d jumped to his feet, his hands curled into fists. He unclenched them, muttering, “I just really hate to see animals suffer, okay?”

Sami stared at him for a long moment. Then suddenly he smiled: that bright, joyous smile like a burst of sunlight. “Of course he’s gonna help the bear,” he said.

“But it’s a _scary_ bear,” one of the smaller kids pointed out, her voice wavering. “What if it hurts Generico?”

Sami nodded solemnly. “It _is_ a scary bear,” he agreed. “And Generico can’t be sure he won’t get hurt. But he knew he had to try. So with his next pass, he tumbled and rolled—“ Sami’s hands traced the motions in the air, and Kevin could almost see the grace of El Generico, ducking and weaving around the bear, “—and he plucked that thorn right out of the bear’s paw.”

Sami held his hand up the invisible thorn in triumph and the kids went silent, their eyes wide, waiting to hear what happened next. Kevin realized he was gnawing his lip and forced himself to stop.

“And then…” Sami said, drawing it out, his eyes alight. “And then… the bear stared at his paw, and he said, ‘You helped me! My paw doesn’t hurt anymore!’ And he was ever so grateful and told Generico that he was sorry he’d been so scary, and invited him back to his cave for honey and berries. And the rabbits came too, and everyone had a wonderful meal and they all became friends!” 

The kids all cheered and Sami grinned at Kevin, and Kevin somehow felt almost like he’d won a match. It was weird.

“And the next morning,” Sami finished with a flourish, “Generico went on his way, with the thorn strung around his neck and his magic ladder in his pocket, still searching for the way to fly to the moon.”

“And he hasn’t found it yet?” said Kevin as the kids started to wander off.

“He hasn’t found it yet,” said Sami, “but he’s starting to think he knows what the secret might be.”

“He did his Asai moonsault tonight, but he didn’t seem to notice me,” Kevin said. “Do you think he hates me?”

“Like I said, I think he’s afraid of you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him if we wrestled,” Kevin said. He thought about it, then amended slightly: “I mean, I wouldn’t hurt him _too_ bad.”

“So who’s Manny got you wrestling in your debut?” Sami asked.

“EXceSs 69,” Kevin said.

Sami’s face lit up and he whistled quietly. “That’s a high-profile match for your debut. I’m…” His voice faltered a little. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m sure he’s great, but I’d rather have wrestled Generico,” Kevin admitted. He punched Sami’s shoulder lightly. “But I suppose I’m lucky. I mean, I could have gotten a match with a total rookie like you.” 

Sami laughed. “If I ever got in the ring with you, I’d kick your ass,” he said.

Kevin couldn’t help but crack up at that. “But seriously,” he said as his laughter trailed off, “you should get Manny to put you in a match, dude. You may be green, but you’ve got a great mind for wrestling.”

“You think so?” Sami looked absurdly pleased.

“Like I said before, I’d be happy to train you,” Kevin blurted out before he could think better of it. “Like, how to run the ropes and do some chain wrestling. I mean, you’re not at the level of trying to pull off an Asai moonsault like Generico’s or anything yet.” He looked at Sami’s face, where the smile had softened into something wistful and almost affectionate. “You wouldn’t have to pay me anything. Just… just friends practicing together.”

He thought he’d said the word nice and casually, slipping it into the middle of a sentence like that, but it was hard not to hold his breath as he waited to see if Sami would just laugh at him.

Sami didn’t laugh at him. 

“Maybe someday I’ll take you up on that,” Sami said. “I’d… I’d like to get in the ring with you.” He looked away, then back at Kevin’s face. “Just to get some practice with a friend.”

Kevin reached down to grab his bag so Sami couldn’t see the relief on his face. “Someday, sure,” he said. “For now, you want to go get something to eat?”

“I’d love it. There’s a vegetarian sandwich place that--”

“What?” Kevin almost dropped his bag. _“Vegetarian?_ Why?”

And that was how they discovered they had more than wrestling to bicker about.

* * *

“Generico didn’t watch my match with EXceSs.” Kevin slumped down next to Sami, toweling off his hair, letting the towel hide his face. “My first IWS match and Generico didn’t bother to watch it at all.” He’d been so sure if Generico would see him wrestle he’d understand… 

“He had a match later,” Sami said. “He was probably doing whatever weird shit he does to get in the right headspace for that.” There was a pause. “I watched it, though,” he added.

He had, too. Kevin had caught a glimpse of him standing against the wall, his nervous hands still for once as he watched Kevin climb to the top turnbuckle. He’d stayed there through the whole match.

“What did you think?” Kevin asked. He asked it just to be polite, but Sami paused for a moment and in that pause Kevin suddenly realized, with some surprise, that he really wanted Sami to have liked it. That he trusted Sami’s opinion of it.

Sami thought about it some more, his brow furrowed, and Kevin felt fresh sweat start to break out on his forehead. He wiped it away. “It was really good,” Sami said at last. “The crowd was kind of dickish at first and it took you a while to adapt to that, but once you did, it really clicked. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to connect with them,” he added with a slightly apologetic look.

“Well, fuck, I’ve never worked in front of a crowd that wasn’t Rougeau’s,” Kevin said. “And they’re mostly kids and people who Rougeau gave free tickets to, they don’t actually know shit about wrestling. This felt like… this felt like the first time I’d ever really _wrestled,_ in a way. My first match.” It was going to be hard to go back to Rougeau’s school, he realized. At Rougeau’s, if your opponent went for a DDT, you _had_ to counter it into a powerbomb--you couldn’t try a stunner or a superkick. There were correct answers for every strategy, a script to follow. It was really more like sparring than fighting. There in the ring with EXceSs, he’d just worked from instinct, letting himself respond to his opponent rather than working from a strict set of moves that he’d drilled a thousand times until they were perfect. It had been… thrilling. 

“I hate to think of you wasting yourself in that crap ‘school,’” Sami said, fingers flying into the air quotes as if he were scratching at someone. He sounded abruptly angry. “You’re better than that.”

“I’m not denying that,” Kevin chuckled. “But…”

“...but WWE’s never going to send a scout to some dive bar in Montreal and see how great you are,” Sami said. The anger was gone from his voice; he just sounded tired. “I get it. You gotta keep your eyes on the prize.” He looked up at the ceiling. “This is fun and all, but eventually Rougeau’s going to reel you back in. He’d be an idiot to not keep you locked down. And then you’ll be gone and you won’t even look back.”

Kevin thought about that for a while. It should have been true, he should be looking at all of this as just a way to kill some time until that tryout finally materialized. Maybe he even had, at first. But now… “That’s not true,” he said. Sami looked at him. “I’ll miss it a lot. The energy, the chaos. I’ll even miss your dumb Generico stories,” he said, teasing, because now Sami looked sad for some reason. 

Sami smiled, a little wistfully. “Will you get me discount tickets to WWE shows when you’ve made the big time?”

Kevin stood up, re-assembling his self-confidence. So what if Generico hadn’t watched his match? Kevin Steen was going to be a WWE superstar someday. “I promise you I’ll get you _first row seats_ to my first PPV match,” he said with a grin. “You wanna get something to eat at that weirdo vegetarian place we went to last time before I drop you off?”

Sami’s smile widened and became something more genuine. “Aux Vivres? Really? You’d go back there of your own free will?”

“Hey, once I got used to the beets, the latke burger was actually pretty good,” Kevin said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“I mean it,” Kevin said, waving a _chapati_ at Sami. It was his fifth visit to Aux Vivres, and he’d branched out from latkes to Indian flatbread, even if he still privately thought it would taste better with some bacon on top. “I’d be happy to train you. I know I seem really full of myself--and I am--but I’m honestly not a bad teacher.”

Sami shook his head, taking a long slurping sip of some nasty-looking greenish-brown drink with a name Kevin could never remember. “Again with the training offer. Why do you keep hassling me about it? I told you I can’t afford it.”

“And _I_ told you I’d do it for free,” Kevin reminded him. “I mean, I just… I think you’d be a really good wrestler.” 

“Not everyone who talks all the time about wrestling is a good wrestler,” Sami said, nibbling on the straw.

“Duh, otherwise those douchebags on the message boards would all be main eventing WrestleMania.” Sami snorted laughter and green-brown swill and Kevin gave him a moment to compose himself before continuing. “I just think you’d be good. I’ve got a pretty good eye for that.”

“Oh you do, do you.” Sami looked amused, which was annoying, because Kevin was serious. And it wasn’t just that he had a good _mind_ for wrestling; it was the way he held himself, the nervous yet controlled energy of it. He was clumsy a lot of the time but so damn quick--Kevin had dropped his drink once and Sami had plucked it out of the air like a feather. With some training, Kevin was pretty sure he’d make a decent wrestler. He could even be IWS champion someday, maybe.

* * *

“ _Sami!”_ Kevin didn’t even bother to look for Generico’s masked form. He was never there--obviously he skipped showering and changing and just left immediately after his matches. Besides, it was _Sami_ that Kevin wanted to share the good news with. “Hey!” he yelled as he spotted Sami leaning up against a wall, one foot propped against the cinder blocks, reading a book. “Sami! Great news!”

“Generico agreed to fight you?”

“Aw, you already know!” Kevin tried to look angry, but he couldn’t. Life was just too fucking good. “I just found out from Manny--who the fuck told you?”

“Kevin,” said Sami, “I have to tell you…” He looked at Kevin’s face for a moment. Kevin could tell there was a huge doofusy grin plastered on his face, but he couldn’t help it. He and Generico were going to be in the same ring at last! “I have to tell you that… That… I convinced Generico to fight you,” he finished in a rush, then grimaced as if he hadn’t really meant to admit that.

“No way! You changed his mind?”

“He…” Sami looked down at his feet. “I told him it was important. I told him I feel like the two of you are… kind of destined to be partners, and he needed to face you.”

“Sami.” Kevin felt gratitude wash over him. “Sami, I could just fucking hug you.” Sami blinked at him, and before he could think better of it, Kevin threw his arms around him. “Thank you,” he muttered into Sami’s shoulder. “I’ll dedicate the match to you. It’s going to be great.”

Sami didn’t move, and for a minute Kevin thought he’d offended him. Then he suddenly relaxed and returned the hug, patting Kevin on the back. “He just needs to stop being a fucking coward and face you,” he said.

“Hey.” Kevin let Sami go and gave him a mock-glare. “No dissing Generico. You’re supposed to be his hype man, his--you know, his fucking bard or something. Speaking of which, you haven’t told any new stories about him lately.”

“Oh, the next one is giving me some headaches,” Sami said. “I’ll have it done soon, though.”

“My match with Generico’s in two weeks,” Kevin said. “Will you have it done before then?”

Sami grinned. “I’m feeling pretty inspired right now,” he said.

* * *

“Okay, I’ve given my wrestler a split-legged moonsault for his finisher,” Sami said without looking up from Kevin’s Xbox as he heard the door open behind him. “I think I’m gonna name him Dropkick Murphy--I can’t believe there isn’t already a wrestler named that, actually. There’s no way you’ll-- Hey, what’s wrong?” Sami dropped the controller and scrambled to his feet at the expression on Kevin’s face.

“That was Rougeau on the phone,” Kevin said. “WWE’s coming to Montreal in a few months and he’s going to get me that tryout and a match on Raw.”

For a second, Sami looked blank. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh my God, Kev,” he said. “There’s no _way_ they won’t hire you once they see you wrestle, this is it, this is _it,_ Kev!” He spun in a circle as if he couldn’t hold still, then stopped again, looking closely at Kevin’s face. “So… what’s wrong?”

Kevin sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “You were right,” he said.

Sami looked at him.

“Rougeau says it’s time to prove I’m dedicated. I only get the tryout if I stop wrestling for IWS.”

“But…” Sami looked almost comically stunned, but Kevin couldn’t even find it funny. His hands opened and closed, twitching. “But your match with Generico is this weekend.”

“You think I fucking don’t know that?” The words were angry, but Kevin could hear how dead they sounded. In his mind’s eye, he saw Generico in the ring, his movements like a vicious dance, tantalizing. There was so much Kevin wanted to learn from him, so much they could learn together. 

On the TV screen, the WWE logo hung glittering; Sami reached over and shut off the XBox with a sudden abrupt motion. “Hey,” Kevin protested, “you didn’t save. You lost it all.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Sami snarled, but he didn’t seem to be talking to Kevin, or about the game. Then he shook himself all over like a dog trying to shake off a heavy rain and smiled at Kevin, though it was a wan echo of its usual sunshine. “Well,” he said. “You can’t pass up that tryout, obviously. You’ll just have to tell call Manny and tell him the match is off. I’ll-- I’ll explain to Generico what happened. I’ll make him understand. He’ll be okay.” The smile faltered. “He’ll be okay eventually.”

Kevin took a breath. “Hold on,” he said, heading back out into the hallway, Sami trailing after him.. He picked up the phone and dialled before he could think better of it. “Hi,” he said. “It’s Kevin. Yeah, I know. Uh-huh. Look, I have to tell you…” He took a deep breath. “I’ve got a match this weekend that I’ve already committed to. It’s only four days from now, I can’t just leave them hanging.” He listened, wincing a little, as the voice on the other end made some acerbic comments. “Yeah, well. Uh-huh. I know, sir. I swear, one last show and then I’m with you full-time. I really appreciate it, sir. Yes, I’ll talk about a contract with you tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone and swallowed hard. Sami was looking at him. “That wasn’t Manny,” Sami said.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Kevin was aiming for sardonic, but the sarcasm was faltering at best. “Okay, Rougeau’s gonna let me have that last show. After Saturday, no more ‘dicking around with rinky-dink bullshit promotions,’” he said, Rougeau’s words bitter in his mouth. “But I get that match with Generico.”

Sami’s face seemed to flicker through a dozen emotions, too quickly to catch any single one. “I’m glad,” he finally said. “I was looking forward to it.”

Kevin lifted his chin, banishing the stubborn melancholy and summoning all his arrogance. “I knew that,” he said. “I’m doing this as a treat for you, after all. Something to remember me by.” It was weird, Kevin thought: he’d been looking forward to hearing Sami’s opinion of the match after almost as much as the match itself. Hearing Sami talk about a match always made him feel like he understood it better, and he’d wanted to hear Sami pick apart the way he and Generico had moved together, the details of their clash. _He makes a story out of everything,_ Kevin thought. _I want to hear him make me part of Generico’s story._ “Consider it a tribute to our friendship,” Kevin said teasingly, patting Sami on the shoulder.

“A tribute to our friendship,” Sami echoed him. “Okay.”

* * *

“You looking for Generico?”

Kevin peered into the locker room, looking past Evil Ninja #2--or maybe it was Evil Ninja #1, he was never sure. He could hear the crowd applauding as Crazy Crusher and Nightmare Manson posed with their new tag titles. His match with Generico was next. “No, I was looking for Sami,” he said. He hadn’t spotted Sami all evening. Was he just skipping the match? Kevin’s last match in IWS? Kevin’s heart turned over.

“Right,” said Ninja #2. “Uh, he’s not here… either.” He looked at Kevin’s face. “Is it true, man? Are you going back to Rougeau’s?”

Kevin looked down at his feet. “Uh.”

“Shit, dude.” Evil Ninja #1 joined #2, shaking his head. “Don’t go back there. You belong here with us.”

“Fuck Rougeau,” said Ninja #2. 

“They’re right,” said Kid Kamikaze from a perch on a table. “They’re right and you know it. You’ve learned more in one match here than you have in three years there.”

Kevin felt himself bristling a little. They didn’t have any right to judge him like that. When he was on Raw every week and they were still wrestling in bars they’d be eating their words. “Sami said he’d be here,” he said, ignoring them. “He promised to be here for my match with Generico. Where the fuck is he?” The locker room was chaotic and noisy, and Kevin’s head was buzzing with adrenaline and lack of sleep. He’d punched out at the gas station at three a.m. and hadn’t been able to sleep since then. 

“I’m sure he’ll be here for your match,” Kamikaze said. “In spirit at least.”

Kevin scrubbed at his face with his hands. Damn it, he had to focus on this match. It was the only match he’d ever get with Generico. It was dumb to spend it upset that some red-headed dork wasn’t there to watch. _Focus on the match, Kevin._

He heard his music. It was time to go.

When Generico’s music hit, the luchador emerged from the kitchen area, as he had taken to doing recently (“It makes sense, though,” Sami had explained. “Since he was originally a dishwasher and all.”) He paused dramatically and pointed at Kevin in the ring, and Kevin felt a chill crawl up his spine, a sudden sense of something like _deja vu,_ but in reverse: _we’re going to do this a million times._ A crazy feeling, an impossible feeling: by the time Generico made it to WWE, it would be after _years_ on the indies while Kevin was main-eventing WrestleMania and feuding with Brock Lesnar.

But when Generico leapt over the second rope and landed cat-agile and crouching, staring at Kevin with his head slightly tilted, Kevin couldn’t shake it at all.

They stared at each other for a moment as Le Skratch roiled around them. Then Kevin lifted a hand in the classic invitation to a test of strength. 

The crowd laughed as Generico stepped forward, raising his hand and shifting from side to side, all nervous skinny energy, visibly outweighed by Kevin’s solid presence. Slowly, with various starts and stops that caused ripples of laughter, Generico brought his hand to Kevin’s--just the palm at first. Then his fingers slid to entwine with Kevin’s and clasp him tightly.

Kevin pushed and Generico pushed back: stalemate. His eyes, framed by the mask, were bright and wary. Kevin applied more pressure and felt Generico slowly give way, his back curving as if Kevin were trying to dip him in some violent tango. Kevin pressed the advantage, moving forward until Generico fell backwards, pushing his shoulders against the mat. Generico’s hands shook in his, and Kevin heard the referee’s fist hit the mat and he suddenly thought _Kick out, Kick **out** , you dummy, don’t let our only match end like this--_

Generico burst upward out of the pin, shaking off Kevin’s hands with almost contemptuous ease, dancing backwards. He was laughing. He looked at Kevin, tilted his head and shrugged, and Kevin could read his actions as if he’d shouted: _Just having a little fun with you._

Kevin stepped forward to swing at him with a snarl of annoyance that managed to hide his relief, and the match was on in earnest.

Generico was _fast_ \--Kevin had watched him wrestle, so he should have been ready, but somehow he seemed even faster when you were in the ring with him. He came at you from all sides at once, a blur of red and black, kicking and throwing. Kevin managed to get his arms around him and toss him into a suplex, sending him bouncing across the ring like a doll, but he came back up and at him in a second. A sudden enzuigiri connected with the side of his head, making stars explode across his vision. Shaking his head to clear it, Kevin lunged at him--and found himself getting thrown across the ring in an arm drag, then another, and then Generico was weaving behind him, _so fucking fast,_ and Kevin was on his back again, rolling out of the ring, dizzy and dazzled, his heart pounding.

He heard the crowd noise lift around him, saw the faces of the people light up, and he knew what was coming. He whirled to see Generico leap onto the top rope, his arms wide as wings fanning the air before he curved into an Asai moonsault so perfect Kevin could do nothing but stare until Generico’s body slammed into him, sending them sprawling into the chairs and the audience, afterimages of Generico limned by the lights dancing in his vision. 

There was laughter and applause all around them. Kevin couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Generico rolled over and came to rest draped across Kevin, breathing heavily. He rested his head on Kevin’s shoulder and Kevin could feel the rough cloth of the mask scratching at his cheek. Generico muttered something in a thick voice, and it wasn’t until the luchador was standing back up that Kevin realized it had been his own name.

The ref was counting. As if from a thousand miles away, Kevin saw Generico struggling into the ring. He heard the ref holler “Eight!” and he heaved himself up, chasing after Generico, _it can’t end like this, I’m never letting you get away from me, you shining insufferable bastard._ Generico came at him when he got in the ring, but he was ready for him--a superkick, a clothesline, a good solid cannonball. The crowd was going crazy, and it felt so absolutely _right,_ the way they were moving together; he felt a weird bubble of emotion in his chest as Generico dodged another clothesline and realized it was joy, that he never wanted this fight, this dance to end. 

But it had to, because they were both sweat-soaked and panting for breath. It was the dangerous part of the match, when stupid mistakes got made, and it was just a matter of who would make one first.

It was Kevin.

He dodged a kick that turned out to be a feint, and the next thing he knew he was getting hurled upside-down against the turnbuckles, stunned and disoriented. He staggered to his feet and right into that damn kick, and he was still staring up at the lights as he felt Generico collapse across him, arms tightening around him for the pin.

He lay there, his muscles ablaze with exhaustion, dragging in deep breaths. Generico was still on top of him, as if they were listening together to the raucous pounding applause lapping all around each other. They were chanting something, a blur of voices smashing all around them. Kevin couldn’t make it out.

He caught his breath as Generico suddenly sat up, grabbing him by his shirt to drag him up as well. Generico caught his head in his hands and brought his forehead to Kevin’s, then pulled back. He touched Kevin’s ear, then pointed to the crowd: _listen to them_. 

Now Kevin could make out the words, solidifying out of the roiling sound. _Please don’t go,_ the IWS crowd was chanting, yelling. _Please don’t go._ Over and over.

Generico waited until he saw the understanding in Kevin’s eyes. Then he nodded. He put a hand to his own chest, above the heart. He reached out and rested one hand above Kevin’s pounding heart. He tilted his head at the audience again: _listen._

_Please don’t go._

Kevin felt tears suddenly come to his eyes. He rolled out of the ring, not even waiting to see Generico’s hand raised in victory. He lunged through the curtain and immediately went to his knees, feeling ridiculous undeniable sobs shaking his body. He shook off the other wrestlers’ concern, still lost in the wonder of that moment, how it had felt to be linked to the crowd and to Generico, all of them together. He could hear Generico’s music end, hear the crowd shuffling out the door, talking excitedly. When the bar sounded empty enough, he lifted the curtain and went back out to the ring.

Le Skratch was littered with trash, chairs tossed everywhere. Puddles of beer on the floor. One bartender behind the bar wiping glasses with a dirty dishcloth. 

And Sami Zayn sitting on the apron, kicking his feet slowly, looking at Kevin as he came closer. “How was the match?” he said quietly.

Kevin knew he should probably be angry--showing up _now,_ when it was all over--but he couldn’t even manage it. He felt drained and exhilarated at once, somehow. “It would have been perfect, except for one thing.”

“I heard you lost,” Sami said.

“No, not that,” Kevin said. “It’s that you weren’t there.”

Sami looked away. “I wanted to be,” he said.

Kevin dragged a somewhat-bent chair over and sat in it, looking up at Sami on the apron. “Sami,” he said. “Do you want me to stay?”

Sami still wasn’t looking at him. “Does it matter?”

A jolt of anger. “Yes! Of course it does!”

“I wouldn’t want you to put your career on hold to wrestle in dirty bars with a bunch of nobodies.”

“IWS isn’t nobodies,” Kevin said. “There’s two wrestlers here I’d want to wrestle for my whole fucking life, and Generico’s one of them.”

Now Sami did look at him. His color was high, but he looked honestly curious. “Who’s the other? Beef?”

“Sami, you dope. It’s you.”

Sami swallowed hard. “You’ve never even seen me wrestle,” he said.

“You’d be great, I know it. You’re brilliant, and the way you move--” Kevin jumped up, took a step closer to the ring. “Sami, I _know_ it. Let me teach you. I’ll fucking do it for free. Fuck the WWE, there’s no way I’m giving this up and I’m not going there alone. You, me, and Generico--we’ll all get there together. Sami,” Kevin said, and he knew he sounded like he was pleading, and he didn’t care, “I don’t want to go there without you.”

Sami was staring at him wordlessly.

Kevin barged on: “Look, we’ve got a ring right here. Show me one move--just one move!--and I’ll start training you this very second. Just a forward roll, or a dropkick.” He smiled encouragingly. “Please?”

Sami blinked rapidly a few times. Then he bit his lip and nodded. “Right,” he whispered.

He jumped to his feet, leapt effortlessly to the top of the second rope, and launched himself into an Asai moonsault.

Time seemed to slow down as Kevin stared up at the silhouette against the lights, and several things hit him at once.

One was Sami’s body.

“Ooooof,” Kevin said as they both went down in a heap on the sticky floor.

“Sorry,” Sami muttered indistinctly into his shoulder.

They both lay there for a while together. Kevin could feel Sami’s breaths coming short and quick, his ribcage heaving as though he’d just wrestled a whole match. It seemed to make sense to put his arms around Sami, so he did.

“I wanted to tell you,” Sami said. “I was afraid. I was afraid you’d just leave. That I’d… care too much.”

Kevin didn’t know what to say. “I like how much you care,” he managed after a while.

Sami raised his head and looked at him, and Kevin was wondering what was best to say next when a child’s squealing voice broke the stillness between them.

“Sami Sami _Sami!_ ” It seemed like there were suddenly a dozen or so kids gathered around. “You said you had another El Generico story ready!” one of them cried, and the others jumped up and down, demanding: “Tell it! Tell it!”

Sami sat up, grinning at them. Kevin retreated to sit on the apron, still feeling a bit breathless. “Okay,” Sami said. “Okay. I’ve got the next Generico story ready. I think…” He almost looked at Kevin. “I think maybe I know how it ends now.”

“What’s it called?” a kid yelled.

“It’s called ‘El Generico and the Prince in the Tower,’” Sami said. He cleared his throat and began: “After a long, long time walking, El Generico joined up with a group of bandits--not the bad kind, but the ones like Robin Hood, who live in the woods and steal from the rich. And the bandits told him tales of a prince trapped in an ivory tower with no doors, a prince who was brave and smart and incredibly handsome, with dark hair and eyes like storm clouds.”

 _Oh._ Kevin kicked at the apron, feeling awkward.

“The prince had been trapped there by a wicked sorcerer,” Sami went on, waggling his fingers dramatically, “who wanted to keep him locked away from the world. The sorcerer kept him trapped there with promises to teach him how to fly, but every day he was really just stealing the life from the prince, bit by bit by bit.”

The kids murmured, unnerved, their eyes fixed on him.

“So El Generico went into the woods and he found the ivory tower, and he used his magic ladder to climb up to the top window, and he said ‘Prince, O Prince, it is I, El Generico! Come with me and join the bandits, and we’ll live merrily in the woods together.’” Sami shook his head sadly. “But the prince said ‘No, I can’t go with you, even though I want to. I have to learn to fly. I have to get to the moon.’”

“Oh,” said a very small child. “That’s sad. What did Generico say?”

“So Generico said…” Sami lifted his head and looked right at Kevin. “He said, ‘Prince, O Prince, you will never learn to fly here. Because here’s the secret to flying: you can’t do it alone. But if you hold tight to someone you care about, you can fly together. Above the trees, beyond the clouds.’” Sami smiled at whatever he saw in Kevin’s face. “Even to the moon.”

He looked at Kevin for a moment and then went on--not in the voice of El Generico from the story, but in his own voice, warm and wistful and hopeful: “Oh, Prince, won’t you leave your tower and fly with me?”

There was a long silence while Kevin and Sami looked at each other. Then one of the kids piped up in a puzzled voice, “But how does it _end_?”

Kevin slid off the apron and walked over to where Sami was sitting on the floor. He reached out a hand, and Sami took it, their fingers interlocking as Kevin pulled him to his feet.

“I know how it ends,” Kevin said, still looking at Sami. “They fly together to the moon, right?”

Sami smiled at him. 

“To the moon,” he agreed. “And onward to the stars.”


End file.
